


Eden

by Shinatobe



Category: Trigun
Genre: F/F, Jazz Clubs, Knives is a mob boss, M/M, Non-Graphic Violence, Roaring 20s AU, Trans Female Character, Wolfwood has PTSD
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-21
Updated: 2017-12-20
Packaged: 2018-08-23 19:27:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 15,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8339830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shinatobe/pseuds/Shinatobe
Summary: When faced with the choice between death row or serving under the infamous Million Knives, Wolfwood's choice is clear.





	1. Cell Block Tango: Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> who would i be if i didnt name chapters after chicago songs. anyway Yes hello i've got a lot of feelings about 20s aesthetic and trigun so of course i must combine them into some massive mess. thank u for reading, idk when the next update will be since im gay and tired and busy. no shippy stuff just yet since this is just the prologue, but i promise it will come! 
> 
> content warnings may change as the story progresses. it's rated m for now just in case

"Do you know who I am?"

Nicholas D. Wolfwood stared at the pale blond man across from him, not meeting the cold eye pointed his way. After being discharged and put on death row for shooting a fellow soldier overseas, he hadn't expected to see anything but the cold grey of his prison cell till he was finally put out of his misery . But apparently He still had plans for him, a guard coming to him during his meal and whispering that he had a  _visitor_.

That would've been fine and dandy, if Wolfwood had anyone who'd visit him in this hellhole. Nobody wanted to see a killer, not even taking his personality into account. He sure had never seen the man before him until now, but the way he smiled made the whole room tense. It felt more like baring teeth than anything pleasant, and the beauty mark on his cheek seemed out of place on sharp features. His clothes were just as sharp and visibly expensive, a three-piece suit and dark gloves reminding Wolfwood that Gunsmoke wasn't a clean town by any means. Men with power lurked in every shadow, like wild animals just waiting to pounce on the weak.

"Can't say you look too familiar..." He paused, swearing his handcuffs felt tighter for just a moment. "...sir."

The man was satisfied with that, or at least seemed to be as he leaned back in his seat, running a hand through his hair. "Millions Knives. Would you like a cigarette?"

He couldn't turn that down, giving a silent nod and watching one of the equally intimidating men behind this Million Knives step forward with a carton of smokes and lighter to match. It was an expensive brand, smoke filling his lungs almost pleasantly as he inhaled, eyes sliding shut briefly. Normally it would be enough for his nerves, but something in Wolfwood knew better than to relax in front of this man. So he sat up straighter, cigarette dangling from his lips as he finally looked him in the eyes.

"Wasn't expectin' a visitor, Mr. Knives. There something I can do for you?"

Again, the sharp baring of teeth meant to be a smile. He even let out a noise that was likely a chuckle as he tilted his head with interest. "As a matter of fact, it is more what I can do for you, Wolfwood. I would like to help you...if you should desire it."

This felt an awful lot like making a deal with the devil, but Wolfwood was never one to look a nightmarish gift horse in the mouth. Contrary to popular belief, he didn't want to die. Not yet, anyway. But desperation was weakness, so he took another long drag from the cigarette before responding in a low tone. "You sayin' you can get me outta here?"

"I'm saying I can have you walk out of this prison right now, and no one will stop you."

For the first time since meeting his eyes, Wolfwood looked away, glancing at the guards as Knives motioned towards them. They each gave him a nod before leaving back into the prison, one setting the key to his handcuffs before him. A chill ran down his spine, as he realized the power this man had. Meeting his eyes suddenly became much more difficult as he turned to face him again, for whoever this Million Knives was, he was not to be trifled with. The fluorescent light buzzed overhead and shone like a spotlight on the key placed before him. The key to his freedom, or maybe to an even worse fate. The odds weren't in his favor, but that was nothing new for Nicholas D. Wolfwood.

So he chose his words with care, slowly raising his eyes up to meet the piercing blue that had been trained on him since he'd arrived.

"What do I have to do?"


	2. All That Jazz

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wolfwood makes his first trip to The Garden for reconnaissance, and marvels at more than just the dancing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow it's almost two weeks later!!! my whole computer crashed today while i tried writing this and i lost everything which is Great. but i busted it out anyway man so i hope it was worth the wait!
> 
> there is very brief use of gendered slurs here, for anyone who needs the warning

The Garden was what they called it. A fancy little jazz club where it didn’t matter what you looked like or who you liked, so long as you played nice. Love, acceptance, and good music was their game, according to Wolfwood’s new boss. It all sounded like bullshit, but then again people would do anything for a buck these days.

“They keep the peace by dealing with troublemakers quickly and remembering faces. So of course, myself and all of my people can’t get within six feet of the place without someone noticing.” The man sat across from him just as before, though the setting had changed drastically. Gone were the concrete walls, replaced now with luxurious wallpaper and paintings to match. Mr. Knives sat confidently in a deep blue velvet chair, swirling pricey brandy in a glass (no ice). He’d offered some to Wolfwood, but the man preferred his cigarettes, knowing better than to drink on the job when someone like Million Knives was the employer.

Wolfwood exhaled a long stream of smoke, staring into the fire to his left instead of the pale man’s face, gaunt and menacing in the dramatic light. “Not that I don’t want the job, but is there any reason why you don’t just shoot up the place? It’s a damn jazz club.”

Mr. Knives laughed in that humorless and sharp way, crossing one leg over the other as if bored. “I’m not a heathen, Wolfwood. And my brother in all his naivety is too good as a martyr. I may want his head -- and trust me, that is not a euphemism -- but I want it done quietly. I want him to disappear, so I can watch that embarrassing little show of his collapse on itself.”

It was incredible how lightly he spoke of it, but Wolfwood was more startled by the switchblade slid across the table to him; cold and sharp and clean, as his employer was. “A final gift, to go with your new clothes and apartment,” he said with a smirk, daring him to take it. “It should suit your needs just fine, when the time comes.”

Wolfwood took it without hesitation, though the thing felt alien in his hand and against his chest once slipped into his breast-pocket. His employer hadn’t spared expenses regarding clothes, the rich and clean fabric feeling almost uncomfortably stiff against his skin compared to what he used to wear, and the dark color made it almost too formal, in his opinion. But he didn’t have much choice, having nothing in the case of belongings besides a few dogtags worn even now beneath his suit.

“Do not mistake my calm for patience though, Wolfwood. The longer that club exists, the bigger thorn in my side my brother will be. Don’t waste my time.”

He murmured a ‘yes sir’ to the man after fighting the chill the unspoken threat gave him. Even as he left for his new residence, he felt those piercing blue eyes follow him.

\---

The air was thick with the rain that had come hours before, sticking to Wolfwood’s skin like cheap cologne. He still wasn’t fond of the suit, unbuttoning it slightly as he made his way down the dimly lit sidewalk, ears perking at the jazz music spilling through the cracks of an otherwise unassuming building adorned with a flashing neon sign of some flower he didn’t recognize. This was The Garden, then.

Admittedly his confidence wavered slightly as he saw the bouncer pat down a man before allowing him in. Of course they wouldn’t let just anyone walk in, idiot. Wolfwood took a long huff from his cigarette and thanked his decision not to bring the switchblade along, too uncomfortable with the weight when this was just meant for reconnaissance. A hopefully genuine looking smile was quickly plastered on as he headed up the steps towards the broad man, doing his best to look carefree as the fellow checked him.

“Sorry about this buddy, just gotta be sure with newbies.” He seemed like a friendly guy, patting Wolfwood on the shoulder when he was done. Lucky stars were counted as the man finally slipped into the club, the mix of sounds and smells overwhelming him before anything else. Lots of booze and perfume in this place, huh.

He made a lazy beeline for the bar, though even that proved difficult with the swell of the dancing crowd around him. Everyone was dancing, drinking, or doing a mixture of the two in this noisy club, skin color ranging wider than Wolfwood had ever seen, and women pressing together like you’d expect longtime couples to do, not for show, just for them. The men were fewer in a place like this, but they still stood out when they did dance, hands shamelessly settling on hips and lower backs while lips did anything but talk.

A cynical grimace creased his face before he could help it, and he whistled to get the bartender’s attention without looking at him.

“What can I get for you, Mister um…”

“Chapel’s just fine. And whiskey’s also fine, on the rocks.”

Another friendly guy, it seemed. Wolfwood had a glass in his hand in no time, and the booze was better than he’d expected. As he took a sip he surveyed the crowd again, wondering how on earth anyone thought something like this would last. He knew people, and people were far too spiteful to just get along like friends when the crowd was this colorful. It’d take a lot more than some pretty dancing and booze to convince a closeted bastard like himself to take such a tiny scrap of hope.

His depressed musings were interrupted by spotlights brightening on the stage at the far end of the club, two girls side by side looking so different that Wolfwood swore they were a joke. One looked to be taller than he was by a good few inches, shoulders broad but face bright and youthful with sandy blonde hair framing it sweetly. The other was a tiny pixie of a thing, shiny black bobbed head barely clearing her partner’s waist, russet skin making her stand out even among this crowd. Both wore sparkly little beaded numbers, and they were probably considered pretty by most.

Song and dance was their gig, it turned out. Size difference didn’t stop the two from matching each other’s steps, somehow making the club even more lively with their bubbly tunes. Anyone who wasn’t dancing before sure was now, with the exception of Wolfwood and the bartender behind him. Guess now was as good a time as any to see what the guy knew.

“So do you guys do this every night? Really? Just sing and dance till the sun rises?”

He could feel the bartender lean against his side without looking, ready to go on some long tale. But that was cut short by the unmistakable sound of a woman’s scream, quieting the whole room as everyone’s focus went to the source. A man with a welt on his face in the shape of a hand print, the disheveled woman before him quickly creating distance.

The man spat in her direction, reaching into his pocket all too quick. “You bitch, did you really think I wouldn’t find y--”

But now it was he who was cut short, knife shot from his hand before he’d even raised it properly and burlier club-goers hastily escorting him out before Wolfwood could register the ringing in his ear. By the time he set his eyes on the bartender’s smoking gun, the party was back in full swing, and the man before him was smoothly setting the pistol under the bar as if nothing had happened. This man, who Wolfwood had foolishly skimmed over till now, with familiar blond hair and a beauty mark under his eye that he should’ve looked for, dammit.

The fella was broad shouldered and a good head taller than most of the patrons, already smiling apologetically as he held out his hand to shake like he hadn’t just effortlessly shot a knife out of a man’s hand from over ten feet away, through a crowd.

“Sorry if I scared you there, buddy! Let me introduce myself!”

Wolfwood’s jaw dropped before he could stop it as he shook the man’s hand, utterly speechless while the all too obvious became clear.

His grin was wide, made sheepish with a humble tilt of his head. “The name’s Vash the Stampede, but you can call me Vash.”


	3. When You're Good To Mama

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wolfwood's even more of a charity case than he thought, some kind lesbians take pity on him. Sort of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IM BAAAACK finally. free to writer during winter break, thank goodness. so sorry for the nearly two month wait, i hope this is well worth it all!

Vash the Stampede. The owner of The Garden, and apparent bartender along with gunslinger. Wolfwood’s “elusive” target. That Vash the Stampede was shaking his hand, grinning like he didn’t know his own brother wanted him dead. Eyes bright green, a dimple creasing his cheek, and a warm glow to him that didn’t even seem real, despite how similar to Knives he looked, he was different in every possible way. How the hell was goddamn Vash the Stampede refilling his whiskey for him, the metal of his prosthetic arm clicking against the glass. Was he faking? Covering for the real Vash who was smart enough not to be introducing himself to every single stranger he meets? That’d be what a smart man would’ve done, but there was no denying how much of Knives he saw in Vash. If this wasn’t Vash, Wolfwood would eat his dog tags.

The handshake ended right as he overcame the knots in his tongue, but Vash the Stampede’s attention was already gone to his watch, smile turning to a thoughtful pout. “Sorry to cut this short, I gotta take care of something tonight.” But he still gave Wolfwood a friendly squeeze of the shoulder before sliding around the bar towards the crowd. “Hope I see you around, Chapel! Drinks on me!” Wolfwood was grasping at air, still struggling for words at the absurdity of shaking hands with the man he needed dead. Vash was slippery, and even with his height he’d disappeared into the mass of people like he never existed. Wolfwood was alone at the bar, with only a watered down whiskey as proof he’d talked to the guy.

Dammit.

He finished the weak drink with a grimace, doing his best to scan the crowd (for the second time that night) for the crop of blond hair he’d seen before. No dice, of course, as there was only so much luck Wolfwood could expect in anything he did. The only familiar faces were the dancers he’d seen on stage, the amazon and the pixie, sat together looking surprisingly chipper with a bottle of Pimm’s between them. What could be more frustrating for him than talking to two women in a place like this? Not much. Not that he had much of a choice.

He’d played it straight plenty of times before, to varying degrees of success.  _ Just do it like you did in school, Nick, _ he told himself as he smoothed his hair down some and made his way through the crowd towards the two women.  _ They look drunk enough to believe anything you tell them anyway. _

The taller one giggled as soon as he sat down, not a good sign. The shorter one raised an eyebrow over her glass at him, scrutinizing his every move with hazy blue eyes.

“...Pardon me butting in, ladies, I just thought you two looked a bit bored-”

Both women immediately dissolved into laughter, cutting him off embarrassingly quick as they clung to each other trying to catch their breath. It was only thanks to the existing noise of the place that he didn’t feel a hundred pairs of eyes on him instantly, but that didn’t stop his ears from going red as he waited for them to calm down. The pixie was first, still wheezing a bit as she refilled her glass and slid it to him.

“You’re new here, aren’t you?”

“Uh...was it that obvious?” His pulse quickened as he tried not to look suspicious. Sticking out was the last thing he wanted to do right now.

The amazon piped up, giggles punctuating her sentences. “Well for sure! Just about everyone knows about Meryl and me!” Before Wolfwood had to ask what the hell that meant, she’d already hooked her arms around “Meryl” to plant the sloppiest kiss he’d ever seen on her rosy cheek. Oh.

Meryl seemed the easily flustered type, huffing a bit at the tall one’s affection despite how she smiled. “Yeah, and you practically jumped out of your seat at the bar. Newbies are always nervous around here, seeing everyone together like this.” She pointed at the glass he had yet to touch, an encouraging gesture. “That’s what the liquor’s for.”

Oh, they thought he was just some flustered wallflower. He could work with that, scratching at the nape of his neck sheepishly and taking a quick sip of the way too sweet gin. “Guess the cat’s out of the bag, yeah I’d only just gotten the nerve to come here…” The two seemed endeared by it, or at least the taller one did. Meryl was clearly the more serious of the two. “Uh...you two were great on stage. I didn’t catch your names though.”

The tall one was plenty talkative still, interrupting Meryl with her excitement. “Oh I’m Milly! Milly Thompson! She’s Meryl Stryfe!” Before Wolfwood could think of something clever, she was already giving his hand a firm and lively shake across the table. Damn she had some energy. It was Meryl who calmed her down, filling her glass again to occupy her long enough for Wolfwood to get his arm back.

“What about you, stranger? You got a name?”

“Oh….uh. Chapel’s fine.” These two ladies had ruined all the bravado he’d had, honestly. He was lucky they thought him some starry-eyed newbie, one who would definitely be curious about gunshots and gossip. “But hey, what was up with that bartender? I’ve never seen sharpshooting like that in the city before.”

Meryl scoffed immediately, severely unimpressed by said sharpshooting as she downed her glass and furrowed her brow. “That’d be Vash at it again...that damn fool doesn’t know the first thing about anything! He thinks he can just play around behind the bar and dance like he doesn’t have a JOB here monitoring folks and--” Her tall friend pulled her against her chest in a tight hug, clumsily hushing and stroking her hair like one would an angry cat.

“...I take it you’re old friends with the guy, huh?” Wolfwood couldn’t hide the dryness in his voice. And the scowl he got from Meryl poking out between Milly’s sequined breasts was all the answer he needed. But it was Milly who piped up again, still as nonplussed as ever.

“We sure do! We’ve been working here practically since Mr. Vash started up the place. Hell, I helped build this place with my own two hands!” As if struck by some godly force, her expression grew much sharper all of a sudden. She leaned on her elbow, staring so deep into Wolfwood’s eyes that he swore she could see the back of his head.

“Uh--”

“Hey!” Again, interrupted by the woman as she slapped her hands down on the table, inspired by something in that odd head of hers. “You look like you need work. Are you a handy kinda guy?” She seemed so hopeful, staring at Wolfwood with big shiny eyes. “We could really use another set of hands around here.”

He couldn’t help but glance over at the more reasonable of the two, but sometime between hugging her girl and pouring another drink, the dark haired girl had passed out with her cheek on the table, bottle still clutched in hand. He was on his own here.

“Depends on the kinda work, I guess. What would I be doing?” Wolfwood really wasn’t feeling too philanthropic at the moment, the booze tasting bitter on his tongue as he fumbled for a cigarette and matches. What was it about his face that made people wanna give him charity anyway, huh? He could take care of himself, one way or another.

But Milly wasn’t discouraged even slightly by his change in attitude, giggling and leaning on her hands like a grade school kid. “We’re building some new set pieces for this weekend’s big show, and we’re kinda short on hands. I’ll make sure you get paid and all!” The giggle turned more mischievous, and Wolfwood felt his ears warm again before she’d even spoken. “I could even get you some alone time with Vash...if you want.”

He choked on his cigarette quite noisily, though not for the reason she thought despite how red he went. His goddamn mark handed to him on a platter just like that, no work on his part. How could it be that easy. How the  _ fuck _ was this place still standing. The good Christian in his heart actually felt some kinda guilt for a second before he swallowed enough nicotine to drown them out again. This was no time to look a gift horse in the mouth. If they wanted to make this easy, all the better.

Putting on an awkward smile was easy enough, and holding back on eye contact worked in his favor to make him seem shy to a naive lady like Milly. “I only just met him...it’s not like we hit it off or anything.”

“Don’t be so hard on yourself! Vash will love you, I’m sure of it! I’m very good at reading people, you know?” She looked so sure of herself that it was hard to hold back a dry laugh. God, this was getting depressing.

“If you say so, Miss Thompson. I can’t say I’d turn down a chance like that, especially after that trick of his tonight.” It wasn’t a total lie. The marksmanship had been some of the most impressive he’d ever seen, even during his time overseas. That talent was undeniable, and his begrudging respect must’ve betrayed something on his face as Milly beamed and ruffled his hair like he was some kid.

“You’ll be great!” she said, scribbling a time and date onto her drink napkin and patting it into his breast-pocket. Her sweetness was wearing him thin.

He excused himself with a little nod, mumbling about an early start come morning and waving goodbye to them both. The place was stifling the longer he was here, and the first step out the door was like inhaling deep after a week of holding his breath. Something about people believing in him just set his teeth on edge, really.

But he didn’t need to think about any of that. All of a sudden he had his way in, a chance for a one on one meeting with Vash the goddamn Stampede. Vash the Stampede, some kind of master of that pistol under the bar. Getting to him would be simple now, but killing a man of that size could be a whole other kettle of fish than what he’d first expected. Not that Wolfwood ever thought anything he did would be particularly easy.

\---

The taxi ride home went by quick, and he was trudging up stairs, wheezing in an attempt to catch his breath as he finally reached what was his apartment. A sparse and gray little square of a room, almost comforting in its likeness to his old cell. Perfect for a killer, Knives had said. His boss had some sense of humor, apparently.

His bed creaked and sighed the same as he did, kicking his shoes off and undressing only enough to feel the rattling air conditioner breeze over his chest. After a day like that, he let himself doze off without any more self-loathing than usual, fist clutched around his dogtags tight enough to leave marks come morning. Though it was Vash the Stampede’s smile that lingered behind his eyelids long after his dreams began.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (wolfwood voice) What Is A Woman?


	4. All I Care About

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wolfwood has a really terrible bad awful day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning for wolfwood having a heaping helping of internalized homophobia and general self-loathing. no slurs, just bad vibes. hope you enjoy, hah...

_Gunshots tear at his eardrums, screams drowned out by the explosions around him. Except for one, his own, hoarse and alien as he holds the gun with shaking hands to his chest. Dirt and sweat cling to him like a second skin, blending him into the trench all too easily._

**_What did you do, Nicholas?_ **

_The gunshots change, farther now as he sits in the med tent, nurses whirling around him like ghosts in white and red. He still clutches his gun, eyes trained on one man that lays before him. He knows this man all too well, and the ragged breaths become more frantic as he lifts the weapon in his hands._

**_What did you do?_ **

_Blood stains his hands, his shirt, his face. His ears are ringing, his hands are trembling. He knows the nurses are screaming but he can’t hear them._

**_WHAT DID YOU DO, WOLFWOOD?_ **

\--

He woke with a shudder and a gasp, grip so tight on his dogtags he could feel the chain biting his neck. Clamping his eyes shut again his free hand felt around blindly, searching for the familiar paper of a cigarette, a half empty box of matches. He didn’t let himself see till he’d inhaled nicotine and tobacco, the trembling in his hands calming slightly despite the wheeze of his lungs and the rabbit’s pace of his heart.

_Count, Wolfwood. Just count._

He ran his thumb rhythmically over the pattern of the chain and tags around his neck. Two tags. One chain. One bed. One box of cigarettes. He was fine. One window, letting in grey and stormy light. He was in Gunsmoke. One grimy kitchenette, dirty dishes still in the sink from days past. He was alone.

He was fine.

It was a day after seeing The Garden. A night since meeting Vash the Stampede. As he felt himself grounded, Wolfwood fell back into bed, focusing on the long crack in the ceiling above him. The cold sweat left on his skin felt clammy and filthy, but he couldn’t muster the energy to do something about it just yet. The cigarette was enough. He was fine. Mostly.

The clock ticked slowly. He sighed, stubbing out the vice against his crummy bedside table. Now that his heart had stopped drumming in his ears, he could hear the rain pattering against his window, reminding him of the umbrella he never bought. Another cigarette between his lips and he slid out of bed, joints creaking louder than the floorboards as he trudged to the kitchen for coffee and eggs (burnt at the edges). He’d need his energy if he was meant to help at The Garden. Especially keeping up with an amazon like that Milly Thompson.

Bitter coffee made him grimace, but it was startling enough that he could forget that dream...anything to put that behind him for a day longer.

A third cigarette. A shower. A special switchblade in the pocket of denim trousers, because who the hell worked in a suit. A fourth cigarette. A long moment standing at the door, willing himself to go. He had work to do.

The rain chilled him to the bone, but he deserved as much for going out without so much as a jacket. One taxi took pity on him and carried him the remaining distance to The Garden, but he still found himself dripping water on the stairs as he knocked. The place was a lot less impressive during the day, no neon lights to compliment the peeling paint and lack of windows. Must’ve been a cheap place, before those people got to it.

He was thankful to see no bouncer answering the door, greeted by Milly’s sweet smile instead. “Oh Mr. Chapel you look awful! Get inside!” She was as strong as she looked, dragging him in by the collar like a mother cat and tossing a towel over him. As he peered through damp hair he noted her change in attire, sleeves rolled up and trousers matching his. No makeup or formfitting dress left her with a fresh face and a more humble figure, but her eyes still sparkled, especially as she waved to her gal Meryl, neck deep in what could only be bills and stress, grumbling fiercely to herself about “that pointy-headed idiot.”

Seemed he wasn’t the only one who’d suffered through the rain, a few damp looking men already getting to work around the place. The Garden was a lot lonelier when it wasn’t stuffed to the brim with music and dancers, the only noise coming from hammers and nails mixed with the lilt of the tinny radio sat on the bar.

“...Sorry for being late,” he mumbled, drying his hair lazily instead of meeting Milly’s eyes. “Had trouble finding this place in daylight, y’know?”

She just giggled and thumped him on the back, nearly knocking him over. “Oh don’t worry, we’re just glad to have you. Ready to work? There’s still plenty to do, and the day’s young!”

He gave a half reluctant nod and shoved his hands in his pockets, glancing to the stage. The most notable thing was a crude crescent moon of plywood, held together by glue and good will. “What the hell is that?”

“Oh! That’s for Meryl’s new act in the making. She’s gonna sit on that and float up over the stage...it’ll be great!” Milly clapped to herself enthusiastically, clearly imagining something a lot more polished than what they had so far. “But that’s not the only thing we’re working on, if you’d prefer something else. There are some holes in the stage needing repair, curtains need patching, oh and that bullet’s still wedged in the wall, if you wanna go for that!” A finger pointed him to the familiar spot, a huge chunk taken out of the sheetrock already.

He sighed and put his hands on his hips as he stared. “I guess I’ll go for that one then.” The amazon was pleased, handing him a few tools along with a bucket of plaster to cover the damage.

“If you find the bullet, you can keep it!”

What a prize.

The mood was nice enough, he supposed. The music was mellow, and the workers on stage were friendly with each other, laughing and shoving around like old pals. He could tune it all out just fine, focusing on the prickles of splinters as he dug around in the wooden support beam behind the sheetrock. The bullet had gone impressively far, wherever it was. The gunman had a lot of power behind that pretty face.

That pretty face must’ve read minds, as Wolfwood suddenly felt a firm hand on his back and a familiar obnoxious laugh. “Chapel, is that you? Didn’t think I’d seeya around again!” Vash the Stampede, in the flesh a second time with an eye-creasing smile. He remembered him, _great_.

Wolfwood, in all his wisdom, found himself tongue-tied once again. Even now he had that glow from before, smiling real big and cocking his head to the side like someone’s retriever. His eyes were bright enough for a dog’s, though the smile didn’t quite reach. And the longer the silence between them lasted, the more hesitant the smile turned. Dammit. You’re blowing it again.

He cleared his throat and pasted on a smile too, craning his neck to meet the man’s eyes. “Do you always hire strangers to work around here?”

That brought energy back to him, making him snort and clap Wolfwood on the shoulder. “You’re no stranger, if Milly likes you then you’re as good as a friend!

The “friend” winced at the cheesiness, barely biting back a swear at how naive and dangerous it was to pull this kind of thing. How had this idiot managed to evade Knives all this time, when a stranger with a knife in his pocket was an honorary friend just for talking to a drunk woman?

Thank god that Meryl spotted this idiot and yelled him over, cutting his conversation with Wolfwood quite short. She was even angrier than when he’d arrived, face red as she scolded the man who’d shot a knife from someone’s hand just a night prior. Vash looked sheepish, innocent...how he could truly be Wolfwood’s mark still eluded him

Digging his fingers back into the wood, he finally closed his grip around something round and smooth. He knew before he’d pulled it out, a .45 round, still shiny and new. Rolling it in his fingers felt all too familiar; whatever gun Vash used, Wolfwood could manage just fine, if worse came to absolute worst.

“Mr. Chapel, can you hear me??”

He glanced up, realizing Milly had been standing before him rather impatiently for a while now. When did she get there…? “Sorry, what was that?”

She sighed, hands on her hips like she was ready to scold him. “I was just trying to say that I talked to Mr. Vash about your--” she lowered her voice, grinning like she had a precious secret, ”--request. He’d love to have a drink with you whenever you’re done with that! Or if you wanna go now, I mean he’s already there.” She motioned over her shoulder to the blond man, polishing glasses and bottles on the wall.

Not what he was hoping for, really. But he gave a tired smile as thanks, pocketing the bullet and making his way to the bar. _You’re supposed to be a starstruck homosexual, Wolfwood. Act like it._

Despite how busy Vash looked, he still smiled as soon as Wolfwood took a seat. “Fancy seeing you here, Chapel.”

He sighed, putting on an awkward smile and running a hand through his hair. “Is it too early for a drink, bartender? I could really go for a highball.”

Drinks were easy. The man laughed light and mixed enough for two, squeezing lime over his own. A sensitive guy, then. “Just don’t tell Meryl, she’ll kill me if she catches me giving away freebies again.” He clinked their glasses together nice and quiet, but knocked back half of the thing without trouble. “Sorry about ducking out on you last night. I’m not usually that rude, I swear! I’m a great guy!”

Wolfwood held back a grimace and just snorted good-naturedly. “No worries, running this place must keep you real busy. Especially running shoot-em-ups like last night.” The alcohol was good, at least. “Those kinds of troublemakers  common around here?”

“Heh, more often than I’d like it.” He ran a finger over the rim of his glass, looking thoughtful. “Folks around here are still getting used to not needing to worry about anything.”

That was a statement worth replying to. Wolfwood leaned on his arms, frown obvious as he slouched. “You don’t really believe that hokey shit, do you? All this love and peace kumbaya garbage?” He couldn’t help himself, meeting Vash’s eyes more earnestly than he intended. “Do you really think people are safe here?”

Vash didn’t falter though. Just smiled warmly as he set his glass down. “Well of course I do. That’s the whole reason I started this place.” He stared across the room, at Milly stealing kisses from Meryl unashamedly to distract her from her work. “I want a place where everyone and anyone can be happy. And be themselves, no matter what. Even if just for a few nights at first, it’ll become days, weeks, months and years. People will understand, in time.”

Wolfwood’s eyes traveled to the girls as well, but his gaze was much harder. No matter how quiet folks were, it was never out of respect for people like them. Like him. And things never changed.

The look wasn’t lost on his drinking buddy. Vash sighed and smiled a bit milder, running an old dishrag over the bar. “You don’t think it’ll work, huh?”

Wolfwood went quiet, nearly biting his words right back, but that just brought those dimples back to the other man’s smile. He was used to this sort of response. “Don’t worry, I won’t kick you out for disagreeing. It’s hard for a lot of people to imagine, a world like that.”

It was infuriating, how sure of himself he was. How could he know, acting like it was all so effortless. “How the hell is a jazz club supposed to change anything? How’s it really gonna help people like u--” Wolfwood winced visibly, one hand going to his dogtags before he could stop himself. “...people like _them_.” What had that bastard put in his drink, making him nearly throw everything out for him to see. The silence hung heavy and he stared at his hands, no longer wanting to meet those eyes that were surely so disgustingly sympathetic.

But the man knew better than to reply, apparently. Wolfwood heard him sigh gently and scoot his way around the bar. “I think I’ll go check on how the stage’s doing. Mind watching the bar for me?” He didn’t wait, knowing a reply wouldn’t come. Wolfwood growled under his breath and rested his forehead on the dark wood, feeling his head pounding from something besides alcohol.

“Focus” he muttered to himself, but the noise in his ears just got louder and louder, suffocating him with hammer falls and chattering and creaky floorboards and.

He left.

Didn’t spare a look to even Meryl brushing past as he shoved his way out the door into the rain again, fumbling for his cigarettes. One breath. Two breaths. Three. He sighed out smoke and rubbed his face, eyes bleary from more than just rain. Idiot...what was he thinking, rattling on like that. There was no way he’d get close enough today to do his job after pulling that stunt. Staying would just raise more questions. His feet carried him through the rain, never stopping even as his cigarette went too soggy to smoke. The rain was almost soothing, quiet and cold on him.

Cold enough to take his mind off things till he stepped out of the rain, into his apartment, and into the sights of his uninvited guests, Million Knives and company.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> first of all, as someone who does not have PTSD please feel free to comment to me if i've displayed anything offensively or incorrectly. i want this to be genuine. secondly, in case it wasn't clear, milly is a trans woman. i struggled with getting it across without using the dated language that's basically slurs nowadays lmao so. i hope it came across alright...once again please feel free to comment to me about it if you have worries or questions
> 
> extra fun fact for non drinkers, a highball is a whiskey and either club soda or ginger ale, a classic old drink


	5. A Little Bit of Good

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wolfwood gives up one opportunity in favor of another

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> finally we're getting into the juicy stuff!!
> 
> warning for some non-graphic violence, fisticuffs and related injuries

After interacting with Vash in person, the differences between him and his brother were even more obvious as Wolfwood met his employer’s gaze. Knives was sharp, so many angles and points where the other was rounded edges. His smile was even sharper than before, a crocodile’s crooked grin as it stared down its next meal.

“So glad to see you, Wolfwood. I was wondering when you’d arrive.”

He occupied the only chair in the crummy apartment Wolfwood had been given, legs crossed professionally with his “associate” Legato Bluesummers standing just behind him like his shadow. Bluesummers had been there when he’d walked right out of the prison, key in hand. The strange hair color fit the name, and his eyes held a cruelty that’d be unmatched if it weren’t for the man in front of him. He was a stray dog next to a rabid wolf, paling in comparison.

Wolfwood kept his back to the door, feeling exposed in his rain-soaked state. But he wouldn’t let himself look intimidated, combing the damp hair out of his eyes as he cleared his throat. “Damn, if I’d known I had guests I would’ve made coffee.”

That got a cold chuckle out of the pale man, punctuated by his fingers tapping against the table. “That won’t be necessary. Just lend me your attention for the time being.” Not a request or command, but an expectation. The hairs on Wolfwood’s neck bristled as he sidestepped past the duo towards the coffeemaker anyway. Even if they weren’t having any, he could use the caffeine.

“Well you got it. Shoot, boss.”

He could feel Bluesummers staring holes into him until he focused on Knives like a good little soldier, sipping watery coffee with a grimace. He was paying attention, he swore.

“Oh, you misunderstand. I want to know what you’ve learned in these few days, seeing as you’ve spent quite a bit of time at that godforsaken place already.” The man sneered, the rhythm of his fingertips on wood almost hypnotic. “I would hope you haven’t wasted two days of my precious time already…”

Two days, had it really only been that? Wolfwood set his mug down to light a new cigarette, not making eye contact with the cold man before him. “The guy’s slippery just like you said. I’ve barely had time to chat him up with all the wandering around he does.” He wasn’t lying. Pinning down the guy was like catching clouds with a butterfly net, or nailing jello to a wall. “But it should be easy, once I get a hold on him.”

This time two sets of eyes burned into him, one far more painful than the other. He could feel sweat dripping down his back along with the rainwater.

“...I’ve made it quite clear where my stance is on being kept  _ waiting _ , Wolfwood. How long will this take? A week? A month? Can you even do it?”

“Of course I can, Mr. Knives. But you should know better than me that this kinda thing takes time.” He blew smoke out between his teeth, heart racing in his ears as he faked calm. “I’ll get it done when I get it done.”

The sudden hand gripping his throat made it all too clear he’d crossed a line in the sand, black spots already tickling the edge of his vision. “You will be respectful when speaking to him, inmate.” Bluesummer’s voice was almost frantic in its ferocity, blunt nails digging into Wolfwood’s skin as he wheezed for air and clawed at his hand.

But he was lucky, hearing his employer laugh humorlessly at his attempt at confidence. What’s a worm to a boot? “Let him go, Legato. He’ll be even less useful to us dead.” The hand hesitated but did release him, air blooming in Wolfwood’s lungs and blurry vision clearing again as the man stepped back to his position behind Knives. His smoke-addled lungs wheezed intensely for a few long moments, hands shaking against the counter-top and chest heaving. Just barely, he could hear Knives chuckling.

“Fair enough,  _ Mister _ Wolfwood. You best get right to work then, head back to that shack of theirs before they miss you too much.” His knowing tone sent chills down Wolfwood’s spine. This man wasn’t one to be fooled. “Though perhaps tomorrow would be a safer choice, given your current condition.” His condescension burned just as much as his laughter.

Wolfwood knew better though. He swallowed dryly at the ache in his throat and nodded, opting to stare at the floor as subserviently as possible. It wasn’t till he heard the scrape of chair legs on hardwood that he looked up, watching the two men leave.

“Don’t make me come back here again, Wolfwood. Just as my patience is lacking, so is my generosity.” What vague traces of humor in the man’s voice were gone, replaced with a cruel and bitter cold. “Trust me when I say that Legato strangling the life from you would be a welcome reprieve from what I have planned for you.”

Another shiver, and the demon and his servant were gone. Wolfwood was alone, burning his fingers on the ash of his cigarette as he stuffed it back in his mouth for a deep breath. He felt over the surely reddened marks on his throat and his knees trembled, suggesting to him that a seat would definitely be preferred. Not the chair, he gave it a wide berth before settling heavily on the edge of his bed, trying his best to focus on the deep in and out of acrid smoke in his lungs. He could pretend the burn came from that, if he squeezed his eyes shut.

The quiet of the room was semi-comforting, just like the early morning. The nightmare felt like years in the past after the exhaustion, a distant and painful memory made even more vague by the smoke curling up before Wolfwood’s eyes. All the better, when his time was clearly short in the eyes of his employer. 

He needed to focus on the future, on Vash. The man was loved by everyone in the bar, despite his idiotic ideas. Taking him into a dark alley without anyone missing him would be nearly impossible to do with those eyes on him at all times. He’d have to convince him to leave of his own accord, make him disappear without a word.

Wolfwood’s fingers found the bullet in his pocket, rolling it over and studying the edges again as he pondered the situation, finally relaxing with each movement. Here in his apartment there wouldn’t be any more interruptions, no nosy bartenders or bubbly dancers, or mobsters just looking for a reason to off him. Finally some peace to think to himself, to iron out a plan at his own pace. A night of reprieve wasn’t much, but he’d take anything he could get, at least to sort out the kinks in his half-baked plans.

Wolfwood could relax, rest his eyes for a moment...let the solutions come to him……

Wolfwood didn’t wake till several hours later, when the grey sunlight had long since given way for the night sky. Damn. It was late enough that even The Garden would be open by now. He scratched at the marks on his throat, itching in a bruise after being left unattended. His fingers twitched anxiously and he cursed at himself.

He needed a drink, and coffee wouldn’t cut it.

Throwing his jacket on he made his way downstairs, hoping to find one pub that could part with a bit of moonshine. The only thing he missed from the war was how accessible booze had been. The air was surprisingly cool despite the rain from before, and the neon lights shone pretty colors in the puddles beside the curb. Some called this kind of night romantic, if they had low standards anyway. The hustle and bustle of cars kept the neighborhood from ever being pleasantly quiet, drowning out bickering prostitutes on street corners, old men hanging outside billiard rooms, some poor sucker getting his ass handed to him by a mugger in an alleyway…

Some poor sucker that looked an awful lot like Vash the Stampede.

Wait, that couldn’t be right. Wolfwood backed up slowly, glancing into the dark again at the bastard held up by his collar, looking pretty sorry for himself despite having a good foot of height on his attacker. Said man socked him in the jaw hard enough that Wolfwood swore he heard something crack, growling to Vash about something unintelligible.

_ Just walk away, Wolfwood, this isn’t your goddamn business. _

_ But if he dies a martyr you’re out of a job, aren’t you? _

Vash wouldn’t even lift his hands to protect himself, taking every hit the man threw at him like some kicked puppy.

God  _ dammit. _

“Hey! Get off him!”

The shout was enough to turn both their heads, just in time for Wolfwood to flip the stranger’s head right back with a left hook to the cheek. He felt bone crumple under his fist as the man fell to the ground, clutching his face in pain and terror. This coward, looking like some frightened nobody now that someone was fighting back. Typical.

Wolfwood grabbed him by the collar just as he’d done to Vash, looming over him and grimacing. He threw a punch to the other side of the man’s face, always preferring to keep it even. “Not so much fun when you get hit back, huh?” Another, square between the eyes. “Huh???” The man’s nose was bleeding, teeth cracked. “ _ HUH???”  _

He was begging for Wolfwood to stop, but it was Vash who finally pulled him off the man long enough for him to crawl away. Wolfwood’s heart was racing, knuckles aching as he looked around with wild eyes, ready for whoever was next. Vash was the only one there, double black eyes forming, busted lip, cut across his nose and a look of mixed disappointment and worry on his face. The kind of look that twisted in your gut for weeks. As the adrenaline seeped out of Wolfwood’s body, he was left hollow, with shaking hands that gripped the blond idiot’s shoulders tight and shoved him back towards his apartment. There was no way he was letting him wander off looking the way he did.

\--

The apartment felt even smaller with Vash huddled in the single chair, wincing at the rubbing alcohol pressed on his cuts. Wolfwood wasn’t gentle in the slightest, leaned back against the table and brow furrowed deep as he wiped away the dried blood.

“What were you even doing back there, huh?”

Vash was silent.

“You’re enormous, you could’ve taken that guy with one arm tied behind you. What gives?”

The silence turned into a fake smile as the blond leaned back, trying to look sheepish. “Well that’s what I get for not paying when I said I would, heh. It’s only fair.” The smile hurt him to make as much as it hurt Wolfwood to look at, thanks to that split lip.

“The hell kinda reason is that? Fair??? You’re talking about fairness after a loan shark nearly broke your nose?”

“You did a lot worse to him, Chapel…”

“Don’t look at me like I’m the goddamn bad guy!” He huffed, banging his fist on the table in frustration. Vash gave him that look again, with the worry doubled from before. Wolfwood sucked down cigarette smoke, willing himself to relax. “...Not fighting back isn’t playing fair. And loan sharks don’t know the meaning of the word anyway.”

“Everybody deserves a chance...even loan sharks and lawyers. That’s what she always told us.”

Wolfwood looked him square in the eye, knocking the bland smile off his face in an instant. “Whoever this “she” is, she doesn’t know a damn thing about people.” The fire in him was wavering, settling into embers. “...And even a fool like you deserves better than getting his ass handed to him.”

It was dead silent between them after that. The air was heavy on them both, pressing down on Wolfwood hard enough to make his head hurt. He hated that kind of silence.

“...I like your apartment. It’s cozy.”

Wolfwood snorted as he pressed a bandage over one of Vash’s cuts, eyes rolling. “Yeah, I think the curling wallpaper really brings the place together don’t you?”

And Vash snickered. And then he giggled, pressing a hand over his mouth so quick he winced at his bruised lip again.

And then Wolfwood laughed as well, a single dry wheezy note as he shook his head and wiped sweat from his brow. Served him right, grinning so genuinely for once now that his whole face was busted up.

The injured man before him kept beaming though, eyes shining with a new warmth to them. “You really are a nice guy, Chapel.”

How could he say such a thing.

Wolfwood’s mirth died too quickly for him to be subtle, eyes sliding down to his his bruised and battered hands. He knew all too well what kind of guy he was. “I appreciate the compliment, spike, but I think that bastard beat you cross-eyed too. There aren’t any good guys like me out there. Trust me.”

When Vash’s fingers curled around one of his hands, he nearly jumped out of his skin. But the man had gauze and rubbing alcohol at the ready, pressing the disinfectant into the cuts far more gently than Wolfwood had earlier. Vash’s hands were equally careful but so different on his skin, the prosthetic cool and smooth while the other’s skin was calloused beyond recognition but so...warm.

Wolfwood had already shut his eyes and looked away when the man spoke up again.

“I can tell you care a lot about people. Folks who can’t…” he paused, smiling though Wolfwood wouldn’t look. “Or won’t defend themselves. I think that makes you a good guy.”

How could he sound so sincere when he knew nothing, nothing of what could happen to him here. Alone in this apartment with Wolfwood, completely at the mercy of a stranger able to beat a man to death. How could anyone trust so much, in a world like this?

He couldn’t respond. He had to change the subject as quickly as possible.

“...So do you get into fights like this a lot, or was this a special occasion?”

Vash understood and smiled, focusing on wrapping the bruised knuckles carefully. “Heheh, definitely more often than you’d think. I’m starting to believe they just don’t like how pretty I am.”

“Hmf, wouldn’t be surprised.” The way his eyelashes fell over his cheeks was unbearable.

He rescued Wolfwood from having to keep staring, looking up with a smile and a tilt of his head. “There you go, good as new. Though I’d really advise keeping those fists to yourself for a while.” He pat the bandages gently and stood, stretching his arms overhead and bumping his elbows on the low ceiling. “I should get going, I’m sure Meryl and Milly are wondering where I’ve run off, y’know?”

Wolfwood didn’t disagree, trailing behind him as he went for the door. The bandages on his knuckles were secure, if a bit sloppy looking. They matched the haphazard bandaging on Vash’s face surprisingly well.

“...You should smile like that more often.” He could feel his face grow heated as the words tumbled out, he couldn’t stop himself, staring at Vash’s soft smile. “It suits you.”

The smile grew as he stepped through the door, giving a nod of recognition with those terribly sincere green eyes. Wolfwood slammed the door shut on those eyes and felt himself deflate against the door, one hand clamped over the mouth that had forsaken him.

Dear God, what was he doing?


	6. Funny Honey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wolfwood reaches a breaking point, for better or for worse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> exactly one month and one day later i return to you my wonderful readers with another chapter! and i finally broke 10k oh yes oh yes. thank you all for being so patient, i hope it was worth the wait :')

Two days passed.

Two days, that enigma of a bartender nowhere to be found. Wolfwood continued to work, shrugging off worried faces when they pointed out the bandages on his hands. At least like this he could keep his ear down, listen to the murmurs of Meryl and Milly as he spackled the walls and sewed curtains. No sign of Vash to either girl so far, but it wasn’t the first disappearance they’d seen. 

“He was a drifter for a good while there,” Milly told him with a sad little smile. “He still goes off sometimes, to find himself.” The indignant huff Meryl released made it clear what she thought of it all. The Garden felt a bit empty, even for the daytime lull of workers.

A heavy pit in Wolfwood’s stomach reminded him regularly of that night. It couldn’t be coincidence, Vash disappearing as soon as he’d…

He woke hoarse on the third day since Vash’s disappearance, the bruised loan shark’s face lingering over his eyes. That look of terror chilled him to the core, and his hands shook as he lifted a cigarette to his lips. _Nothing’s changed, Nick. You’re still one sorry bastard._ _No wonder Blondie hightailed it the second you shut that door._

It was still so vivid, the cuts on Vash’s face, the sweep of his eyelashes. He’d been so close, unfairly close to that enigma of a man. How could he have known what he’d done to Wolfwood, to the man locked up in his chest trying so hard to be forgotten.

He didn’t have time to sulk. Daylight was a limited resource and he was already running late. All he managed was downing a cup of bitter coffee while ignoring the bloodstain on his table, grimace permanently engraved on his face as he finally left the apartment. Another day at The Garden, keeping his head down and his ears perked as he struggled with a hammer, nails, and a foot sized hole in the stage. Wasn’t every day that Meryl Stryfe stomped her feet hard enough to do that.

‘Struggling’ was putting it kindly though, as Wolfwood nicked his thumb with the hammer and cursed loudly, waving it in the air. He’d break every one of his fingers at this rate. He sat back on his heels with a sigh, glancing towards the door as he heard it creak open. 

He dropped his hammer, eyes wide. Vash the Stampede, fresh as a daisy. Smiling bashful like he’d just been caught skipping church.

Wolfwood swallowed the noise in his throat before it could escape, hunching down as he watched the man prance -- yes prance -- over to Meryl and Milly, sweeping them into a hug with a snort and a laugh.

“Girls, you wouldn’t believe what I got us!”

He was whacked with Meryl’s rolled up newspaper immediately, whimpering like a dog. 

Though Milly was all smiles to see him, the little pixie gave him an extra shove for good measure. “Where have you been? You were gone nearly three days!” But her frustrated look dissolved too easy as Vash mumbled apologies, giving an excuse too quiet for Wolfwood to hear. They’d been worried sick about the fool.

And that fool looked...good. The bruises from before had faded well, only a band-aid pressed across the cut on the bridge of his nose. Wherever he’d gone, he’d taken care of himself, and that flush to his cheeks was genuine. He didn’t seem to notice Wolfwood, tinkering away on the stage. Wolfwood was glad for that, feeling his stomach turn every time he stole a glance over to him. Maybe he was getting sick. Maybe it had nothing to do with that man’s soft smile not even directed towards him, the obnoxious laugh that accompanied it.

Maybe things were going back to normal. 

“You’d better come to tonight’s show Mr. Vash!” Milly warned, raising her voice loud enough that Wolfwood was sure he was meant to listen. “We’ve been working real hard on it!” The added wink she shot behind her towards him made it embarrassingly obvious. Listen up, Wolfwood.

But Vash was none the wiser, just beaming brighter than the sun. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world, girls. You can count on that.” 

Another, even less subtle wink from Milly, and a thumbs up to boot. Wolfwood supposed he’d go too, then. He could use a drink, he supposed as he fished a splinter out of his finger. 

A drink. Nothing more.

\---

The Garden was booming once again. Wolfwood had nearly forgotten what the place looked like in full swing, anxiously smoothing his hair back and ignoring the weight in his breast-pocket. Just insurance. He was there on business, even if he was humoring the whims of a dancer.

What anxiousness he had was unfounded, apparently. The bouncer encouraged him in with a broad smile and a pat on the shoulder, welcoming him as a friend.

Friend.

Patch a few curtains and suddenly you’re everyone’s friend, huh.

He’d nearly forgotten how the bodies swayed with the music around there, unapologetic and unafraid as they curled around each other tighter than pythons. The anxiety returned as he did his best to slide around the mass of dancers, recognizing faces now and hoping they didn’t recognize him as easily. It was easier when he didn’t know a soul.

He wormed his way over to the bar just like on the first night, though this time he looked more avidly for Vash, frowning at the unfamiliar face behind the counter. As if the bastard hadn’t hidden from him for long enough already.

“Bourbon and coke, please.”

He came here to drink, he might as well start early. Nursing the glass he gave the room another long look, not spotting the girls in the crowd either. Even with newly familiar faces, Wolfwood found himself on his own.

The man shut his eyes to let out a sigh, but as he opened them again he saw the lights dim, heard the noise cut as a spotlight suddenly shone on-stage. A tall familiar blond stepped into the light; Vash the Stampede in a faded tuxedo. He tapped the microphone and cleared his throat, eyes sparkling in anticipation.

“Wow, they finally got the lights working properly! Nice work you guys!”

The crowd chuckled and Wolfwood sighed into his drink, recalling the troubling frayed wires. Vash’s smile was bashful as he adjusted his bowtie, waving his hands to hush the patrons. “Sorry, sorry, I’m hilarious I know but I shouldn’t keep you nice folks waiting any longer than I need to!” He looked so gleeful, clapping his hands together like a young kid at the thought of it. “We’re trying something a bit different tonight, so I’d like you all to hold your applause till the very end.”

He handed the microphone down to one of the band, clearing his throat once more. His chest swelled and he looked impressive, powerful for just a moment before that wide smile broke across his face again. “So let me formally present to you, our very own Meryl Stryfe and Milly Thompson, in something a little different!”

The room was obedient, hushed as Vash disappeared off the stage and the curtains parted, revealing Milly sat alone atop a stool. Gone was her usual glitz and glamour, replaced instead with a dress of soft white lace and hair in softer curls over her shoulder. Several gasps were heard in the crowd; she was radiant. And she smiled, inhaling deeply before the song began.

_ Long ago and far away,  _

_ I dreamed a dream one day, _

_ And now, that dream is here beside me. _

As the words left her lips so angelically, a second light brightened on the stage far overhead. Meryl sat atop that corny wooden moon they’d worked so hard on, looking just as lovely as her partner below in glowing white. They shared a glance, tender and intimate as Milly sung on with stars in her eyes.

She wasn’t the only one, as Wolfwood’s stomach dropped lower than it had ever gone before. He felt his throat tighten and threaten to choke him but he kept silent, watching these women confess to each other in view of dozens. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from them, completely missing as Vash slid up next to him and ordered a drink as quietly as he could muster. No, it would be a crime to ignore the warmth so palpable between the women on stage, their voices joining in harmony all too easily.

_ Just one look and then I knew _

_ That all I longed for long ago was you. _

As the music swelled one final time, so did Wolfwood’s heart to painful degrees. He found himself frozen when the audience roared with applause, finally exhaling only after the lights had returned and the spell was broken. He rubbed a hand across his face and pulled back wet fingertips, grimacing at himself as he fought the desire to bolt then and there. The music was picking up to its usual tempo, a blissful noise to drown his thoughts as he turned away from the spectacle of the two lovers and growled out a drink order, reaching for the first glass in his line of sight.

A metallic hand closed over his before either drinker had realized the confusion. Wolfwood tore his hand back instantly and shot his eyes upwards, meeting a pair of watery green eyes bridged by a bandage across the nose.

Wolfwood swallowed at the quickly returning lump in his throat, eyes falling to the buttons on Vash’s dress shirt almost submissively. He swore every time he stood near him, Vash seemed to grow an inch or two.

“...Hey.”

“Hey.”

Vash slid the drink over to him, leaning on the bar with a sigh and wipe of his eyes. “Did you like the song? Those girls, they’ve been practicing for ages…” He sounded like he was smiling, but Wolfwood refused to confirm whether or not. 

He mumbled into the drink instead, eyes still threatening to spill over again. 

“It was pretty good, yeah...didn’t know those two had pipes like that on them.”

He could feel the warmth of Vash’s smile, hear him sniffle a bit as well. Wolfwood should’ve expected the man to be the emotional sort, but his heart tightened in his chest all the same. This man was unfair in every way, and Wolfwood still struggled to meet his eyes. Focusing on his own hands was easier, till the slowly mending skin across his knuckles came into focus again. The knife felt heavy in his pocket as he recalled that night, and what he was here for in the first place. He didn’t have any right to be taking Vash’s time like this.

But he wouldn’t stop.

“...So where’ve you been, spike? Those gals have been worried sick about you.”  _ And so was I. _

“Heh, sorry about that…” Vash’s bashful smile was audible as he fiddled with the cuffs of his dress shirt. “I had to do some extra work around town to pay off that loan, and I figured I might scare the patrons with my face all busted up.”

A heavy silence fell over them, solemn despite the cheers and laughter mixing with jazz on the dancefloor. The knife in Wolfwood’s pocket was dragging him down, taunting him.

“...Hey Chapel, you wanna go somewhere quieter?”

The knife was lead.

Wolfwood knocked back his drink and nodded.

Following Vash through the crowd was easy enough, ducking past dancers and one more bouncer as they stepped into a small store room filled with crates of imported booze. As the door shut behind them the sound muffled instantly, the life of the club a world away as the single overhead bulb swung tiredly. Wolfwood found himself eye level with Vash’s top button and grit his teeth.

An awkward laugh broke the silence, Vash quickly stepping back to give space to them both. “Jeez this isn’t much better huh? I’m sweating now!” He gripped at his collar, loosening his bowtie with practiced elegance.

Wolfwood’s laugh was just as uncomfortable if not double that, eyes skating the ground quickly till he found a place to sit atop one low crate. “No kidding, I would’ve sworn you were suggesting we fool around, if I didn’t know better.” He felt his heart in his throat as he laughed it off.

Two men laughing awkwardly in a store room was enough incentive for him to grab for his smokes. His hands shook despite himself, the cigarette growing mangled in his teeth as he clenched them and failed to light match after match.  _ Disgusting. You can’t even manage this, huh.  _ His stomach turned, what the hell was he even doing. Why would anyone in their right mind even suggest it?

His terror was interrupted by the click of a lighter and the bright flame against the tip of his cigarette. He inhaled slowly as he dared to look up, following the long arm to Vash’s sympathetic face. God, he hated that look.

“...I don’t know a lot of folks that can afford lighters.”

“It was a gift, heh. But I don’t smoke, so I hardly use it.”

Wolfwood sighed out smoke, feeling his heart settle slowly with the familiar taste. “You should give it to me then,” he snorted, already tired of himself. “I’m sick of matches.”

The pause was long enough that he could note the patched tears in Vash’s slacks, the lack of shine on his shoes. He had no business owning nice clothes if he was gonna treat them like that. But the pause ended, and the tall blond in a ratty suit shrugged as he held the lighter out to Wolfwood. Expecting him to take it, just like that.

How  _ dare _ he.

Blood roared in Wolfwood’s ears and he shoved him, swatting at his hand with hard scowl as he stood and bumped against his chest. “Don’t you have any goddamn pride? What, if I told you to give me your tuxedo jacket wouldja hand that over too??”

“You need it more than I do, I don’t see the problem?” His voice was soft but he stood his ground, attempting to push the lighter into Wolfwood’s hand a second time. Wolfwood smacked it out of his hand, grabbing Vash by the collar as the metal box went sliding across the floor.

“It was a damn gift wasn’t it? Doesn’t that mean anything to you?” The smoke felt like fire in his lungs, he knew the lighter wasn’t the problem as that leering loanshark’s face clouded his vision. “You don’t have to give anyone  _ anything _ , even if they beg! You’ve got that right!”

Vash’s eyes were too understanding, his body no longer resisting as Wolfwood shook him. “I  _ want  _ to, Chapel. I’ve got the right to that too.”

He was so close. So weak. As Wolfwood stared at that face he felt the burning subside, leaving him panting and his hands shaking once more as he clung to Vash’s collar. His voice shook too tellingly as his eyes dropped to his hands. “Be selfish, you idiot. Put yourself first for once in your damn life.” His hands fell to his sides and he spat the remains of his cigarette to the floor, grinding it under his heel. The gap between them suddenly felt a mile wide.

But Vash bridged it in an instant, tilting Wolfwood’s chin with both hands to meet his lips in a kiss gentler than Wolfwood ever deserved. So gently he felt tears drip down his face disgustingly slow, for he knew he wasn’t worth this but he wanted it all the same. He couldn’t touch Vash, clenching his fists at his side instead till he finally pulled away and stared at the man before him. God how his eyes sparkled, he was too beautiful to bear as his cheeks flushed and he smiled so nervous.

“Sorry, that was all I could think of.”

Wolfwood swore and wiped his sleeve across his face before grabbing Vash’s collar a second time, shoving their mouths together in a kiss far angrier. This bastard, with his warm arms wrapping around him too easily and holding him close till he’d drawn out ever last hot ember and left the man in his arms just clinging to him, gasping for air as he leaned his head on Vash’s chest.

The room was silent, save for Wolfwood’s harsh breathing and the distant music beyond the door. He laughed weakly, exhaustion settling on him like a lead blanket.

“I need a drink.”

He felt Vash’s laugh as he heard it, the man’s chin settling on his head comfortingly. “Jeez Chapel, I dunno if we’ve got any liquor around.”

He’d shove him if he didn’t smell so nice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i spent like 30 years looking for a song to use that was from the proper time period, and in the end i picked something from the 40s instead. its fine. its ok. if anyone's curious it's Long Ago (and Far Away) as used in the musical Cover Girl! https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=imdiY87pqAU here's a link for the fans


	7. My Own Best Friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things are never easy for Wolfwood. But he always works his way through them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> five months later and such a short chapter to make up for it....apologies my friends it's been a bit Rough but i'm hoping to get back in and finish writing this soon!

The drink felt heavy in his hand as Vash tugged him out the back of the club, squeezing his free one tightly. Clouds had moved in some time ago, leaving them in near darkness behind the noisy building even despite the streetlamp on the corner. Vash wouldn’t say where he was taking him, but Wolfwood couldn’t manage the words to ask as he saw that smile in the dimmest light. He must’ve glowed, somehow.

It was up the fire escape to a door with six locks, each undone with ease. Wolfwood hadn’t stopped to consider where Vash lived, but it figured he’d be so close to the action. Even as they stepped inside and shut the door, he could feel the boom of music beneath their feet. A lamp flickered on, and among piles of cheap gifts ranging from thank you cards to framed photographs, Vash stepped close enough to brush hair from Wolfwood’s eyes and shake his very core with the sparkle in his eyes.

Wolfwood leaned his head on the man’s chest again, mumbling a prayer to calm his shaking hands. The whole place smelled like Vash and it made him dizzier than the alcohol could, him easily going where wide palms lead him till they sat together on a bed, knees touching. Vash’s thumb circled the back of his hand rhythmically, voice softer than lace in his ear.

“...Mind if I leave my shirt on…?”

His head was full of cotton, all he could do was nod dumbly along and tilt his head up to meet Vash’s lips once more. The heat of the kiss stole his breath and he clumsily set the drink aside to wrap both arms around him, vaguely remembering how he was meant to do this. Up his arms first, feeling each dip of bone and muscle, or metal and wood. Then to his shoulders, the unmistakable texture of scars under fabric, stitches…

Bullet wounds.

Wolfwood’s blood turned to ice as things were immediately familiar. The hospital, the nurses, the stench of death, the man he...he….everyone watching, everyone knowing what he was, what he’d done, how _disgusting._ He couldn’t breathe, his heart pounding in his ears, his hands curling into fists as shoved himself away rough enough to fall to the floor, gasping weakly and trembling like a wild animal. Sweat dripped down his face and he was a coward, he was always a coward, he pressed his forehead to the wood below him and grabbed at his dog tags, the metal cutting into his hands so harshly but comforting, somehow.

His ears rang as he tried to catch his breath, but the vice grip on his lungs only tightened as he felt a familiar hand on his back, trying to comfort.

“Don’t _touch_ me,” he growled weakly, swatting at Vash and crawling a few feet only to curl up again, letting the chain of his tags dig into his cheeks and neck. Pain he could focus on. He had to focus, to breathe.

With the exception of his own ragged breathing, it was quiet, almost silent. Time dragged on and Wolfwood’s shoulders slumped. He inhaled slowly and felt himself come down, wishing he’d pulled a cigarette when he had the chance. As his vision cleared he found a glass of water set beside him, and Vash still sitting on the bed, staring at him with that painful concern. He couldn’t meet those eyes. Not then. So he gulped the water down, staring at the mess of sweat and tears he’d left on the floor. How could he find it in himself to tell a face like that the truth?

Another long pause, as he carefully slipped the dog tags back under his shirt with shaky hands. Shame weighed on him heavily, pushing his head down before Vash even spoke.

“...Sorry, Chapel. I didn’t mean to…” The pause in his words cut like a knife between Wolfwood’s ribs. “We don’t gotta….do anything, okay?” How could he know. There was nothing the pitiful man wanted more than to feel Vash’s embrace again, tight enough to keep him from breaking apart again. He dragged a hand down his face and slowly stood, setting the glass aside as he still wouldn’t meet the other man’s eyes.

“It’s not…”

He bit his lip, fists clenching.

“I’ve gotta go.”

He knew Vash wouldn’t object, sitting in silence as the door shut between them.

\--

The clouds had been a warning sign, of course. Wolfwood found himself trudging through rain for what must’ve been the third time that week, for once taking comfort in how it chilled him to the core. Everything shone brightly in the lamplight and neon, drawing his eye from sign to sign till he found one familiar. He shivered as he pushed the heavy doors open, but as he entered the darkened church, a sigh escaped him, weariness dragging him to settle in a patch of light on the pews.

It had been too long since he’d sat like this, forehead resting on hands clasped before him. You didn’t have much time to pray in prison, not if you wanted to keep to yourself. He still recognized the lingering smell of incense, the old paste holding faded bibles together.

_O my God, I am heartily sorry for having offended You. I detest all my sins because of your just punishments, but most of all because they offend you, My God, who are…_

He sighed, cutting himself off and rubbing his eyes. _What’ve You done for me lately, huh…_

Leaning back in the pews he let his eyes fall closed. Slow deep breaths, pulling apart the twisted jumble of thoughts within him. Vash, his scars...even if he couldn’t see them, he’d felt marks as deep as valleys across the man’s back. How could anyone cause that kind of damage to a guy like him, to the point it felt like mountain ranges ran under his skin? Who would _dare_ lay a hand on a man like Vash?

The knife in his pocket reminded him, _You could, Nick. That’s the only reason you’re here._ As he held the thin metal in his hand he watched it glimmer faintly, reflecting his face back at him in a taunt. How could he have ever deluded himself into thinking he could harm a hair on his head, when he…

Wolfwood ran his thumb over the edge of the blade, grimacing as he felt skin break. He couldn’t kid himself.

He loved Vash.

It scared him, but it was true. The man had wormed into him so effortlessly that the mere thought of this blade coming near him made Wolfwood grind his teeth. He’d never be able to go through with it. There was no way. His stomach turned at the finality, his unfinished prayer hanging over him like a veil. But he refused to say it, reaching for his cigarettes when he finally heard the clearing of someone’s throat.

He looked up, meeting eyes lit in candlelight. A priest, staring at him with cautionary concern, a wide berth still given. Wolfwood stood slowly, leaving the knife in his seat behind him.

“My apologies, Father. I know it’s late, I just needed to get out of the rain.”

The man sighed, stepping a bit closer to look him over properly.

“If you need a bed for the evening, there’s a shelter across the street. The rain’s let up at the moment, so I’d go while you still can.”

Wolfwood smiled wryly and shook his head, heading towards the door. “Thank you Father, but I’ve got my own place. I won’t intrude any longer.”

The priest followed behind him, curiosity on his face as Wolfwood’s was illuminated.

“...Nicholas, is that you?”

A pause, as he lit his cigarette and breathed deeply.

“Goodnight, Father. Take care.”

He should’ve known the town was too small to go walking around. He blew through three cigarettes on his journey home, trudging up the stairs with a weary huff as his lungs got quick revenge and made him pause. Taking slow breaths he made it up the rest of the stairs, finding his way down the hall only to see a familiar figure sat against his door, dozing lightly in the early hours.

Vash, face even more angelic as he slept.

Wolfwood stared as long as he could, feeling the weight in his chest grow heavy again before he nudged him awake with one foot. Vash snorted as he came awake, eyelashes fluttering in confusion. He couldn’t avoid those eyes anymore, holding a hand out to him as he unlocked the door.

“Come on, that’s no place to sleep.”


	8. We Both Reached For The Gun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's only so much one man can handle on his own

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh boy this story is a bit dusty isn't it hi everyone i havent updated since july but im still alive :'3 i've been terribly busy with uni classes and Depressione but it's winter break now! yall deserved an update! thank you so much to everyone who put such nice supportive things in the comments, i would not have been able to keep at this without you guys! i hope this is worth the long wait

The quiet of the apartment was oppressive as Wolfwood lead Vash in, locking the door then making a beeline for the sink and a glass of tapwater. The tall man behind him lingered at the table, tracing metal fingers over the still present bloodstain, thoughtful and forlorn. Even if it was only due to his height, the way he dipped his head and let his shoulders droop dragged Wolfwood’s sullen heart into his throat too easily.

Vash slowly raised his eyes to meet Wolfwood’s, that patented concern filling him with dread before he even spoke.

“Chapel, I just…”

The name felt like ice down the back of his shirt. He turned away from it, gulping down more water as he analyzed the ring of rust around the sink drain. He’d tried scrubbing it out before, but the ugly mark must’ve been older than he was.

“...You shouldn’t sleep in the hall in this kinda weather. You’ll catch a cold like that.”

Vash’s soft huff of laughter was warmer than it had any right to be. “I didn’t think you’d take so long, in my defense.”

It was silent again, but the old floorboards creaking betrayed how the man moved closer, hovering behind Wolfwood even as he continued to stare down the sink drain. He swore he could feel breath on the back of his neck, but he was always too sensitive. Vash cleared his throat, and Wolfwood gripped the edge of the sink with one hand to brace himself. “I just wanted to apologize, for earlier...I know it takes a while for a guy like you to get comfortable with all of that.”

All of that. He really thought he was just some twisted up idiot who didn’t know what he wanted. Wolfwood ground his teeth together, setting his glass down before he could shatter it and make a worse mess than there already was. How could he admit the truth to him, that he was a bundle of war flashbacks tied in a neat little bow of self-loathing, that he could barely even look at pictures of himself in uniform without wanting to tear his own teeth out? How could he touch this man again when his skin was a warzone, and feeling that bullet scar was enough to send him over the edge?

Vash put a hand on his shoulder, and only then he realized he was shaking. He inhaled deeply, eyes squeezed shut as he fought the urge to smash his own head against the countertop. He had to say something, anything to cut through the tension thick enough to feel like stone on his shoulders.

“...Vash…-”

But he couldn’t even get his name out, his blood running cold with the sound of a doorknob jiggling behind him. Keys jingling, not even hesitating.

Fuck.

Wolfwood slapped a hand over Vash’s mouth before he could even look at the door, his own eyes pleading as he pushed him towards the bathroom. “ _ Hide, _ ” he hissed, shutting the door between them as quietly as he could manage with his heart pounding against his ribs so fearfully. Only one type of man could be here, could have a key turning in the lock right as he hurried to get the door first. It swung open and nearly took Wolfwood’s nose off, but that didn’t matter, Legato Bluesummers was here with a scowl that could scorch the earth.

He sneered, (correctly) expecting Wolfwood to move as he stepped forward and slammed the door behind him. “You’re up late, inmate.” Somehow he seemed even larger on his own, the fiery loathing in his eyes forcing Wolfwood backward a few steps. It was all he could do to meet his eyes, shoving his hands in his pockets as if he could ever look casual.

“Sorry, couldn’t sleep. Didn’t know I had a curfew.”

The henchman hummed pensively as he swept his eyes over the small apartment and the man within it, eyeing the beads of rainwater and sweat dripping down his jaw. Even a cockroach was given more sympathy than this.

“Sit.”

Wolfwood’s legs obeyed before the rest of him decided to, collapsing him in the single chair as he watched Bluesummers move in closer with hands in fists tight enough to crack. It was all he could do not to glance at the bathroom door and give Vash away, instead focused as intently as he could on rings on Bluesummers’s fingers. Where the hell was Knives?

“...Did the boss send you to check on me? He’s really gotta learn to relax.”

Ah, that hand closing around his throat felt familiar now as his breath caught and his eyes watered. He didn’t see spots like before, but he was forced to meet livid eyes instead as Bluesummers snarled in his face. He could practically feel the hand on him tremble with anger.

“Keep your mouth shut if you know what’s good for you. I didn’t come here for small talk.”

How could he say no to a deal like that?

The man before him exhaled, though his grip stayed as tight as before. “Mr. Knives does not know I am here. Because Mr. Knives shouldn’t have to deal with a man like  _ you _ , when I am by his side.” His nose wrinkled as he tilted Wolfwood’s head back and forth, looking over him like some dead animal left on his front stoop. “Mr. Knives has more important things to do than waste thoughts on an insect like yourself, but  _ I  _ know that a man like you can’t be trusted half as far as he can be thrown.” He reached into his pocket, and Wolfwood’s eyes widened as a familiar switchblade was dug an inch deep into the table.

“There is always someone watching, inmate. If you falter again, I will skin you myself. And Mr. Knives will  _ thank _ me.”

Wolfwood shut his eyes as he felt the man’s grip tighten, heard him laugh cruelly for a moment too long. Bluesummers’s words nearly echoed in his head as he finally released him, the door shutting before he could even inhale.

_ Know your place, soldier. _

He slumped against the table, breathing shaky as he felt over the burning marks becoming all too familiar. He barely registered the shift in a shower curtain, the creak of his bathroom door opening as Vash slowly stepped out of hiding and rushed to his side.

“Chapel, what the hell? Who was that???” The cool metal of his prosthetic hand was almost soothing on Wolfwood’s skin, but the soft intake of breath at the sight of his forming bruises cut him so sharp he almost flinched. “What did he do to you…?”

As he sat up, he gently pushed Vash’s hand away and sighed out, staring at his knees. Just like that he’d been backed into a corner, his only options being to bite back or surrender. Vash had his hands clasped together like a distressed nun, and he knew it was only due to what happened before that he wasn’t attempting to embrace him already.

“That was Legato Bluesummers. He…” 

He couldn’t lie again. Looking back up to meet Vash’s worried eyes, he grimaced.

“He works for Knives.”

In an instant, all the color drained from Vash’s face. His eyes took on a sharpness that Wolfwood had never seen before, an accusing knowledge within them almost enough to make him look away again. His voice was too soft as he finally spoke after an achingly long moment. Only five words. 

“How do you know Knives?”

If only he could’ve sunk into the floor and disappeared.

“He writes my paychecks. Wanted me to off you and crush your little club for him.” His own voice felt so alien to him, devoid of any feeling as he confessed his sin outright. “I was supposed to use that knife there...funny, right?” His heart was so heavy it dragged him down, head in his hands as he waited for this sweet man, this stupidly kind man to finally treat him as he deserved. Even an absolute idiot couldn’t ignore this.

But an absolute idiot embraced him, for the second time that night. He pressed him close to his chest, trying to quell his own trembling as he let out a sob. Vash was weeping, quietly against Wolfwood’s hair as he squeezed him tight. His teardrops felt far too warm.

“This is all my fault. I’m so sorry, Chapel...you never should’ve been involved in this.”

Wolfwood’s arms hung limp at his sides as Vash spoke, barely able to process. He met the man’s eyes and nearly cringed, seeing how they overflowed with guilt and tears. How could a man like this really think...what the hell had he seen, had he  _ done _ to look at him like this, after he’d confessed something so disgusting? How could he feel anything but betrayal at what Wolfwood had done?

His confusion must’ve shown in his eyes, as Vash half hiccupped and smiled, rubbing his eyes quickly. “I knew...I knew Knives was looking for me. After I…” He squeezed his eyes shut, forehead pressing against Wolfwood’s as if it gave him comfort. “I ran away. I knew what he was capable of and still, I ran and I hid...thought I could get away with it...I was an idiot. I  _ am _ an idiot.” He cupped Wolfwood’s cheeks so tenderly, smiling that horrible fake smile just like the last time he’d been brought here. “And now he’s brought you into this...into my mess. I’m so sorry, Chapel.”

God. He had no choice but to wipe those tears away, gritting his teeth as he felt his own resolve waver. “Shut up...don’t you dare apologize for that.” He held as firm as he could, though seeing Vash so broken threatened to make his own eyes spill over. “I was supposed to  _ kill _ you Vash, I’m not some bystander.” He almost hesitated, but he quickly lifted a hand to quiet the weeping man before he could retort. “And...my name’s not Chapel.”

So off-topic it seemed, the rivers on Vash’s cheeks paused for a moment. He blinked slowly, brows furrowing just slightly as he looked at him. “...What…?”

He licked his lips, eyes lowering from Vash’s face as he gathered courage once more.

“....My name is Nicholas Wolfwood. Up until five days ago, I was a death row inmate at Gunsmoke Penitentiary.” He bit his lip, letting out a weak breath. “I was in the army...during the war. Till I did something unforgivable.” He could practically feel Vash inhaling to protest, taking his hands and squeezing them so kindly.

“...Wolfwood…”

“I killed a man. One of our own. In cold blood.”

And Vash was quiet again. But he didn’t stop squeezing his hands.

He took another deep breath. “Knives broke me out, on the condition that I...took care of you. Made it look like you’d just run away, so they wouldn’t go on without you.” His hands were beginning to shake, despite Vash’s best efforts. It was almost laughable, how pitiful he was. “I couldn’t do it though. Just...couldn’t bring myself to it. Not when….” Shaking his head, he trailed off and finally met Vash’s eyes once more. 

“I won’t do it. He’ll just have to kill me.”

A crease formed in Vash’s forehead the moment he said it, but he pulled Wolfwood tight in his arms again and squeezed him almost breathless. The familiar smell of his shirt was comforting again, enveloping Wolfwood’s nose as he buried it in Vash’s shoulder. For just a moment, he pretended there was nothing else but them.

It’s a brief moment, of course. He felt the man sigh and slowly peel off of him, that look of concern returned to his face already. “Come stay with me. It’s not safe here.”

So abrupt it almost sent Wolfwood’s head spinning. He looked at him incredulously, Bluesummers’s harsh words ringing in his head mockingly. “Vash, I….they’re following me everywhere, I can’t...you heard what Bluesummers said, didn’t you???” 

But the man’s concern has turned determined, a look Wolfwood never thought the man capable of. “I’ll figure it out. I...I’m gonna be selfish.” The familiar concern bled just slightly as his eyes went to the bruises on Wolfwood’s neck, one hand tracing along them so gently. “I can’t keep running, but I can keep you safe at least.” He bit his lip, almost smiling. “If they want me so bad they can come and get me. I’m a pretty tough guy.”

He really was an idiot. An idiot who could make Wolfwood hopeful for just long enough to consider it. There was no way Knives’s men wouldn’t see Vash leave, even if it was alone. No matter what he did, Vash would be in danger. They couldn’t just hide away and pretend everything was alright. Moving in would be the worst mistake he’d made so far.

But he couldn’t find it in himself to say so. Staring into those green eyes, all puffy from crying, any possible argument died on his lips. He swallowed the lump in his throat. Breathed in deeply.

“Okay.”

He’d figure it out. somehow.


End file.
